


isn't it lovely (all alone)

by blue_is_samazing



Series: Venty Stuff [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, let me know if i missed any tags and ill add em, vent fic lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 18:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20050276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_is_samazing/pseuds/blue_is_samazing
Summary: In which Patton is a struggling boy and I love him which means, of course, I must make him hurt.





	isn't it lovely (all alone)

**Author's Note:**

> me, showing up like three months late with iced coffee: whaddup guys i brought emotional instability
> 
> aaaanyways yeah sorry to disappoint but all i have is this here emotional bullshit with literally no dialogue. for all you newcomers please go check out my other, better fic, "Fight or Flight", it has a happy ending and, like, real plot.
> 
> anyways enjoy i guess lol (also dw chaboy is all good i just have. bad nights.)

Patton was tired. The sort of tired that wouldn’t go away after a good night’s sleep. No, it was the sort of tired that settled in his bones, the sort of tired that made his brain foggy, like a small bathroom after a long hot shower. It was the sort of tired that made his heart ache and it  _ hurt _ , and sometimes, in the stillness of the night, it left him breathless and crying in his bed, buried under blankets with his fist in his mouth, biting down  _ hard  _ to muffle the shuddering sobs from the others.

He knew he was supposed to be more honest now. He knew he promised to tell them when he was hurting, but… They depended on him. They needed him to be strong, to catch them when they fell, to reassure them with smiles and hugs and unending love, because he  _ loved  _ them  _ so much _ , and he couldn’t bear to see them hurt. And he knew that if he told them how tired he was, they wouldn’t go to him anymore. They would see that he was carrying too much and they wouldn’t go to him for help, and he  _ knew  _ they had each other, he  _ knew  _ they wouldn’t be alone, but he just couldn’t bear to be out of the loop.

If Logan stopped going to him to confess how unwanted and unnecessary he felt, how would Patton know if he was getting worse?

If Roman stopped going to him and talking through his insecurities, how would Patton know if he was being cruel to himself again?

And Virgil… Virgil rarely opened up about his problems. He preferred to keep his time with the Others to himself, as it was a very personal thing to him. But if he knew how badly Patton was doing, would he ever open up?

No, it would be better if Patton just stayed quiet. Better for all of them. He’d rather be stressed out over what he  _ knew was happening  _ than the many, many different scenarios that ran through his head at night.

So he lied. Deceit had long since given up on getting him to be honest, so Patton lied through his grinning teeth all day every day, until the sun went down and Thomas went to bed and the Sides followed suit.

Nights were much harder than days.

During the day, he had eyes on him, he had a job to do, he had responsibilities around the Mindscape, and he had his kiddos to help. During the day, his mind was occupied with the constant hustle and bustle of being a Side.

During the night, however, he was alone. Alone with the thoughts in his head, the thoughts that told him he was useless, that he was a failure, a liar, a hypocrite, a letdown.

Annoying. Unwanted. Pathetic. Stupid.

Had he missed anything? Were there any signs that anyone had shown that he hadn’t seen? Had Roman eaten? Had Logan been able to properly speak his mind without being interrupted or belittled? Did Virgil wince when something touched his arm?

He would spend hours analyzing every interaction for a mistake, and he counted them. Every mistake, every unnecessary comment, every stupid,  _ stupid _ joke, all of it. He would count them out in his head, and he would remember that number as he dug through his bedside drawer. He would keep that number in his head, mutter it to himself over and over until he found what he was looking for.

He would repeat the number under his breath as he slid his pajama pants down to his ankles, sitting on the side of his bed. 

He would count down as he slashed the corner of the razor across the skin of his right thigh.

With each slash came the slightest release of the fist around his heart. By the time he got down to zero, he felt lighter. The tight ache in his heart let up, and he could breathe.

He would let his head roll back as crimson dribbled down the sides of his thigh, lightly tickling the skin, and he would close his eyes, and breathe.

Sometimes it didn’t last long enough, so he would add a few more slashes to the collection and bask in the relief for just a little while longer. Eventually, though, he would have to clean up. With a wave of his hand, the razor would return to its home, and all the blood would vanish, leaving only the open cuts, which rubbed painfully against the fabric of his pajama pants. As he curled back under the blankets, finally able to rest now that the day’s sins were atoned for, he would press his fingers against the fabric of the pants and revel in the dull pain that emitted from the flesh underneath. That was how he would fall asleep at night.

And he would do it all over again the next day. He would go on and on, he didn’t care if it killed him from the inside out, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was them.

**Author's Note:**

> yeet yeet i want to delete


End file.
